


Bow

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Travels [29]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Character Study, Gen, I Don't Even Know, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 02:41:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3192221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of Theron's precious bow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bow

It was only when he was sleeping that Theron seemed to let his bow be more than a few feet from him. Zevran carefully extracted himself from the warm furs, driven by impulsive curiosity to go over and study the bow in more detail after he'd stared at it while trying to go to sleep.

It was clearly a well-loved weapon, the grip stained and worn with the accumulation of sweat and dirt, the bowstring just starting to fray. The curved wood was scratched, but otherwise smooth to the touch; Theron regularly waxed the bow to keep it supple, cared for it as much as the Antivan did his daggers.

Zevran had never been one for archery, but he liked to think he knew enough about bows. This was too small to be a longbow, curved and then flared out at the ends. In battle, it was quick and powerful. The draw on it was short, allowing for rapid volleys of arrows, and the force behind each arrow was clear from how fast and far it travelled from the bow. The string was kept so taut on this one Zevran was sure he would barely be able to pull it back to even half of it’s draw. He wasn’t sure if it was a Dalish preference, or simply Theron’s. Either way, it worked. He made archery look so effortless and graceful.

The Antivan glanced to the other elf nestled in the bedroll, checking he was still asleep. He supposed it may have been a Dalish preference to keep bowstrings taut. Living and hunting in dense forests with undergrowth in the way probably limited space for swords or longbows, and the likelihoods of clear far shots would be slim. If anything, this bow was designed for shorter range, with the speed and force it could put out. Theron presumably snuck as close to his prey as possible before he fired an arrow at them to ensure a killing strike, something which had translated well to supporting melee fighting, even if he stayed out of direct combat if he could help it. Besides, something that could take down a deer could take down a common bandit, or at least severely cripple if it was aimed right.

Zevran examined the wood of the bow, smiling when he saw the haphazardly carved sides. Theron was no master carver, often nicking his finger or thumb on the blade he used to dutifully gouge some kind of design into the bow that was still ongoing, but it was a focused enough effort that Zevran could recognise it’s resemblance to the Dalish elf’s _vallaslin_ , or perhaps the graceful halla horns they echoed. Echoes of echoes.

When the Antivan looked up again towards the bedroll, it was into the eyeshine of a half-awake fellow elf. He quickly put the bow down exactly where he found it, but Theron blinked at him and tilted his head.

“My apologies.” Zevran said quickly, coming back to bed.

“If you wanted to look at my bow, you just had to ask.” The Dalish elf yawned, stretching his arms out and rolling his shoulders. Shoulders and biceps that were well-developed from years of using such a powerful bow but equally as tense as a result, two callused fingers and thumb from drawing back a rough drawstring almost constantly, those calculating grey eyes that always seemed to be picking out something just a little further away, the head that turned towards the slightest hint of movement for the next target. A hunter, a predator, always in search of his next prey.

Zevran settled down under the warm furs, Theron lying down next to him with a tired sigh with his eyes already shut.

“We have seen so many more powerful bows than yours on our travels. Are you not tempted to use one of those instead?” The Antivan queried, wrapping his arms round Theron’s midsection as their dark legs tangled together.

“No.” Theron answered without opening his eyes, biting back another yawn. “Every bow is as unique as a sword. The balance may be different, the range shorter or longer. In terms of a bow, the draw may be looser, or have less power behind it. It would be stupid now to try and change weapons, to learn the feel of a new bow, to forge a connection.” He explained, voice low but still loud in the silence of the tent. “Would you ask Sten to give up Asala for a more formidable greatsword? He knows the sword he has already, exactly how it feels in his hands, what it can and cannot do when he wields it, what it is capable of and what it allows him to do in battle. It is like an extension of his body, a part of him. Asala.” Theron explained, voice growing thick with sleep. “That bow is my Asala. I earned it after my first successful hunt for my clan, and now it is one of the few reminders I have left of them, wherever they have gone.” He admitted, voice quiet.

Zevran listened closely, glad that Theron was sharing something so clearly personal with him. He remained awake a little longer to consider the ranger’s words, and smiled to himself when he felt Theron’s breathing slow down as he gradually fell asleep once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow this is short.  
> My lectures start again tomorrow ahahaha send help. I'm thinking of taking requests for new pieces from you guys - yay or nay?  
> http://a-mahariels-travels.tumblr.com/post/108452371948/series-update


End file.
